Dog's Day
by Onions Make Me Cry
Summary: For Jimmy Hopkins, the dating scene is getting uglier and uglier. Jimmy/Gary, Jimmy/Bullworth Academy
1. Double Feature Creeper

A/N: Hey guys. I come with another, actually much smuttier offering of masochistically delicious BULLY goodies. In response to a writing challenge I knocked up with a writing buddy, here is my response to the challenge, 'Cornered in a public place'.

--

DOUBLE FEATURE CREEPER  
By Onions Make Me Cry

CANIS CANEM EDIT

* * *

--

.

.

.

.

.

"Listen, I work in the real world, and have real responsibilities." Zoe whispered, an extension of Jimmy's slouching shadow, from beneath the light-beams of the movie theater.

"Listen, I work in the _real_ world! And have _real_ responsibilities!" Replied Humphrey Bogart a few moments later. Jimmy snorted into his popcorn as the old man sent his eyes careening up and down the lithe figure of Audrey Hepburn. She seemed not to notice at all.

"Next is... I know you work in the real world and you're very good at it."

Audrey sauntered forward, just as an eruption of film spots flickered across the screen. "I know you work in the real world! And you're very good at it!"

"But that's work. Where do you live, Linus?"

"But that's _work_... Where do you _live_, Linus?"

It was strange how she could do that... Zoe's knowledge of old movie scripts was a little harrowing. She grinned as she reached into her boyfriend's lap and plucked out a handful of popcorn for herself.

Jimmy Hopkins had never been much for movies. Especially old ones. A movie was fine if it had tits and ass. The age of the movie had nothing to do with tits and ass. But it was better if there was a good muff shot or two. Even greater if it had all of the above, _and_ something that exploded. But when it came to the midnight Audrey Hepburn double feature, the boy might as well have been plunked down in the middle of a forest in Soviet Russia. He was bored, cold, and, the longer the movie went, the greater grew his chances of death. If this shit went on much longer, he would die, if not just from the jolts of pain that were shooting up his lower back. This was taking forever.

"My butt's sore." James mumbled. His girlfriend's smile was replaced quickly with a death glare, and the boy was forced to return silently to his popcorn. So much for having fun on his date. Zoe hadn't even consented to the idea of a little lights-out hanky panky underneath the chair line, and with no tongue down his throat, or hand on his dick, or boob in _his_ hand, Jimmy considered the 6.50 he'd paid to get into the damn theater nothing more than useless paper. He should have just flushed the money down the toilet. That, at least, would have been more entertaining. And shorter.

Though_, Sabrina_ seemed like a movie Zoe would like, Jimmy grudgingly had to admit. She was still a chick, after all, and when it came down to the nitty gritty, all chicks really wanted amounted to the same stack of things; to fall in love with a douchebag, and get a crapload of money. Audrey Hepburn seemed to get both in this situation, despite the rough looks of the brothers she had to choose from. One guy was an insufferable twat that reminded Jimmy a lot of Derby Harrington, and the other one looked so old, he could have been a member of the California Raisins. They were both rich as hell.

"When is this shit over?" Jimmy whispered again, and leaned into Zoe to put his arm around her. "Come on, let's go make out on the football field."

"_No_, Jimmy! Jesus, I thought you wanted to go out tonight!" The red-headed girl swiveled in her chair and pushed Jimmy's arm off. "You could use some culture anyway. You don't read, you watch _way_ too much porn, and the movies you know only have boob shots and people's faces getting ripped off."

"So?"

"So?" Zoe looked around, apparently at nothing at all, but her frustration was clear. She usually only got worked up when she was secretly offended, and Jimmy took his cue to back off of the subject of the fucking boring movie she was forcing him to watch. She obviously was drawn to the concept of a poor girl getting a rich ending, and if it meant that she'd stay his girlfriend, it would be worth it. Probably.

Jimmy sighed instead. It was a defeated sound, and he slunk down further in his chair. It was only when he felt Zoe's fingers curling around his arm that he looked up again. She was smiling at him wryly, and he knew that he wasn't getting an apology. But the smile meant well. It said 'suck it up, kid. And I still like you.' Jimmy smiled back, small at first, but then kinda toothy, and then kinda shy. She still got him, sometimes. She was a bitch, and she made him do stupid shit, but she was alright. She was actually kinda smart. Probably, actually smarter than he was. But not crazy about it. Like some people.

"Hey," Zoe whispered, leaning in close. "Get me a soda?"

No boyfriend errand in all the history of the world was as much appreciated.

--

* * *

The counter was smooth imitation marble, with little flecks of sparkling formica. "So, gimmie a large Pepsi and.. uhh... and a small tub of popcorn, extra butter, and then... a, uh..."

"A Peppermint Patty?"

As a matter of principle, Jimmy's eyes had just landed on the silvery paper of that very snack. He jerked his vision up, and seeing the clerk on the other side, let loose a loud bark of laughter.

Petey grinned from behind the snack counter, his red and white striped uniform making him look like a little sad clown. But maybe one that was in prison. His smile suggested that much at least... It was one of those tired expressions that Petey always wore during the school year when he was barely tolerating things.

Jimmy leaned down on the counter, his face illuminated by amusement. "What the hell, man? Who put you in that monkey suit?"

It was late summer, after all, and most of Bullworth had returned home for the season. Jimmy had stayed in the dorms for lack of a better place to go, but he'd assumed that Petey would have gotten as far away from campus as humanly possible. This year had been especially stressful, and with the oncoming responsibilities of becoming Head Boy after Gary, the pressure had begun to show.

"My mom and dad told me to stay here and get a job." Petey supplied mirthlessly. "They said it would build my character."

"Shit, man. Really?"

"Yeah... I know, right?"

Behind them, the line was growing longer, and unruly. When one woman cleared her throat particularly loudly, Petey jumped, then looked faintly ashamed. "Look, Jimmy, I've got to work. But, just be on your guard tonight, okay?"

Jimmy straightened, his grin fading. "Why? What do you mean?"

"Gary." his best friend said. Then, lowering his voice, he leaned over the counter to elaborate. "It's Gary. I saw him. He's _here_. In the theater."

"_What_?"

The thought of Gary Smith hit Jimmy hard enough to knock all the mirth out of him. It had been two months since their fight on the bell tower, and as far as he'd been aware, Gary had been spending his summer uncomfortably ensconced within the walls of Happy Volts Home for the Mentally Unwell. The concept of him, roaming free, was laughable enough. Much less, considering Gary going for a pleasure stroll out to the local theater, by himself, around midnight, to see a chick-flick double feature. Gary didn't 'do' chick _anything_. To him, the best kind of girl was one that was in a heap at his feet, crying her eyes out.

"I saw him earlier! I really did!" Petey sounded conspiratorial, and Jimmy briefly appreciated the fact that, if anybody could understand the magnitude of the release of Gary Smith, it would be him. "He stopped by and asked me about you. He wants to know where you are."

"Excuse me, is this going to take much longer?" The pushy lady from the back of the line shouted up the file of customers, and Petey dropped the plastic cup he was holding.

"What the fuck, Petey? What do I do?" Jimmy watched Petey's head bob up and down from behind the counter, and a slow burn of something like panic, but not quite, began building in the pit of his stomach. Why would Gary come all the way here for him, in the middle of the night? Was it revenge? It had to be. The shorter boy reappeared a moment later, and replaced the cup on it's stack just in time to see Jimmy run a worried hand up over the top of his short-cropped hair.

"I don't know. He doesn't seem too different or anything. Just... uhh..."

"What? Just what?"

Petey squirmed where he stood, then took the cup off the stack again and filled it with soda. Setting it down by Jimmy's hand, filled to the brim with ice and Pepsi, he shrugged, and finally looked up. "...smooth. He seems really smooth."

Jimmy stared blankly across the counter, his confusion obvious.

"Come on, Jimmy. Think about it. If you were Gary, and Jimmy Hopkins had just knocked _you_ through a skylight, gotten you expelled, and sent you to the _Insane_ Asylum? How would you react?"

The crowd of people behind Jimmy physically backed up about a foot and a half. Petey swallowed, hard, and a sweat sprang up across his forehead as his eyes coasted the background. This would have to end, and soon, if he wanted to keep his job. But Jimmy himself seemed not to have noticed the motion behind him, though something about his eyes did seem to register the point of the story. "Badly, I guess."

Petey shrugged, and slapped a peppermint patty on the counter next to the soda. "He's really angry. I can tell. He gets smooth when he's really, especially mad."

"Great. Then I'll be sure to wear that bullet proof vest I've got hanging around." The patty was swooped up and pocketed in a heartbeat, and Jimmy fisted the soda a second later. "Forget the popcorn, Petey. I don't give a shit anymore."

The short boy smiled half-heartedly. "Cool. And don't worry about the money. I got it. Just be careful, okay?"

"Yeah, yeah. I will. Thanks."

* * *

--

The theater was somewhat run down. It had been built in the fifties and had undergone several phases of reconstruction since then. Now, it dwindled stylistically somewhere between the gold lacquered decor of the late 60's, and the clean, bulky lines of a 1950's suburban community center. Jimmy stalked down the low-ceilinged hall, gulping Zoe's soda, and his eyes scanning the surroundings with a hawkish intensity. As far as the eye could see, the hallway stretched on in long, empty tracks. Only a lonely usher lingered, bent over a velvet rope and picking the fuzz off of it. Empty otherwise. Shit. Everyone was watching the double feature, and the world outside the thirty foot screen might as well have been the desert surrounding an oasis. Here was a wasteland of loneliness. Not even the irritated voices of the concession line reached him in the hall, and Jimmy gritted his teeth from the way it made his nerves buzz. Everything... all of this. It was too quiet.

The carpet abruptly changed color at the entrance to the bathroom. The maroon tone faded out first to a bright pink, and then a sickly orange. Apparently one too many overflowing toilets had bleached the color out of the cheap floor and nobody had ever bothered to replace it. Jimmy stomped over top of the fade and pushed through the door. If Gary wasn't in the men's room, then he was obviously a figment of Petey's paranoid imagination. It seemed possible then, that Petey had simply cracked. After so much concentrated time with Gary, who wouldn't have? If Jimmy could think of a better place for the maniacal ex-head boy to be other than Happy Volts, it certainly wouldn't have been anywhere near Pete Kowalski.

Water dripped sluggishly out of a broken tap at the end of the long line of dingy sinks. The bathroom was just as empty as the hall, and faintly creepier, considering the long line of scummy mirrors that ran opposite of the dirty stalls. Everything about the room buzzed, the off-white tile reflecting grayish light back up from long, florescent light-bulbs mounted in the ceiling. But other than the buzz of the light bulbs and the drip of the faucet, this room too, was silent.

Nothing. Empty.

Jimmy let loose a long, quiet sigh. Gary wasn't here. It was almost a relief not to have found the marauding psychopath, despite a particular, nagging feeling of obligation to do so. They would run into each other again, whether Jimmy liked it or not. Later, rather than sooner, just seemed slightly more favorable.

It was only when he turned to the door again that his soda cup flew up into the air, and a rain of crushed ice scattered across the tile like bits of broken glass.

"Mother _fucker_!" Jimmy hissed, pulling his hand back in shock.

"No... that would be your _step_-dad, Hopkins, now wouldn't it?"

Horror was Jimmy's first knee-jerk reaction at the sight of Gary Smith. He was smiling as he folded his arms in a lazy cross over his chest, obviously pleased with the third-grade tactics that now left Zoe's soda in a sticky mess all across the floor. It wasn't often that he got the chance to smack things out of people's hands, but by the look on his face, he enjoyed it. "Long time no see, _friend_."

"How the hell did you get in here?"

"Well, there's this thing you can sometimes find inside buildings. They're called _doors_. I know, it's hard to imagine that a wall could just, _open up_, like that, but you can trust me on this one, Jimmy-boy. They do."

How was this possible? Incredulity stole over Jimmy next as he looked his old rival up and down. Gary seemed taller, somehow. He'd grown a little over the summer... whereas Jimmy had frustratingly maintained the same level of stumpy shortness. Gary loomed now, intimidating as ever, but also with a new and distinct air of malnutrition. Obviously Happy Volts had done next to nothing for improving his current state of well-being. His skin was pasty pale, and his cheeks were a little hollower than Jimmy remembered. His hair, usually combed and clean, hung in tangled tousles of dark brown. But most surprisingly, his clothes were also lackluster, plain white shirt hanging off him like dirty clothes on a hanger. It was only looking the usually immaculate Gary up and down one really good time before an idea dawned. Gary hadn't gone home yet. He'd come here first. Straight here, it seemed, directly from the Asylum. Thinking on this, Jimmy involuntarily fell back a step, and the other boy's scare-crowish eyes followed him hungrily into the room.

"I meant that you were really quiet." The king tried to stand straighter as Gary advanced.

If anything was the same about Gary, it was his body language. He hovered, vulture-like, just at the edge of Jimmy's personal space, and, there, flickering in the corner of his mouth, an unfriendly smile was beginning to peek through. "Jimmy, Jimmy Jimmy..." He murmured, and began to pace in a slow circle around his victim. "Don't you _know_? I'm a _ghost_."

"Huh. You still look alive to me." Jimmy had to fight himself not to turn with Gary's circling. "I didn't think it would be other crazy people that would finish you off."

That seemed to please Gary, and his smirk spread into something more like leering amusement. His shoes made no sound on the tile floor, whispering air following his footsteps instead of noise. "That's... _sweet_ of you, Hopkins. Really. But who exactly do you think is going to be the one to... '_finish me off_', as you so crudely put it? Surely not _you_. Were you waiting, all this time? Did you _miss_ me?"

Gary's pacing was distracting. Jimmy's frown dug into his blunt face, warping into something closer to a grimace. And finally, he gave in to the temptation, and turned, trying to get the taller boy back into his regular line of vision. He wanted to reach out and grab him. Make him hold still. Make him stop smiling. 'Smooth' was a good word for Gary right now, and it was unnerving in a way Jimmy hadn't expected. This was Gary, but it was someone else too. There was no more shouting, for one. And there were no more insane tirades or declarations of hate... Or lengthy, manipulative plans for town-wide domination. There was just a cold, smooth wall. Gary was there, true, but he was underneath a disgusting summer of little pink pills, and living in a little cement cubicle, and listening to the shrieking sounds of patients as they pulled their own hair out, ripping follicle by follicle, just one at a time. This was all the cleverness of Gary Smith, in an orderly, frightening queue. The rage had been put aside for now, it seemed. But here was also the calm composure of a man who had had months of thinking time to chart out a strategy.

So, what was this? Revenge? Was there going to be another fight? When was the mood swing coming? Jimmy ground his teeth together and locked his squinting gaze on his opponent, ready for anything. "Right. Like I could miss a psychopath like you running around the school."

Gary's calm seemed to flicker for a half a second, but when he reached his hand out, it was only to grab a corner of Jimmy's collar between his thumb and forefinger. The action struck Jimmy stiff and still, and his fists curled into balls by his sides as he stood poised for action, if Gary decided to make the gesture violent. He didn't. He merely took a step closer, and rubbed the cloth over the fleshy face of his thumb.

"Nice shirt."

What?

It was a short sleeved, simple white cotton button-up. Jimmy, of course, hadn't _actually_ buttoned it up, but had worn it over a black undershirt and his favorite pair of camo shorts. The button-up had really only been for Zoe. He always tried to, if not just a little, formal it up a bit for when they went on dates. Gary was looking at the shirt like he was appraising a fine antique, and now all Jimmy could do was wonder whether or not the orderlies at Happy Volts had been administering the wrong medications all summer.

"Thanks." Jimmy mumbled, suspiciously.

"A date shirt, no doubt." Gary sighed, and ran his fingers down the buttons. Jimmy's stomach twitched at the touch. "Too bad a monkey is still a monkey, even if you dress it up."

_There_ it was. The king almost could have been grateful for the returned sarcasm, if it wasn't for the fact that it still made him mad. "Yeah, fuck you very much, Gary. What the hell do you want?"

"Can't a _friend_ pay another _friend_ a compliment?"

"No..." There were still fingers holding on to the tail of his shirt, and Jimmy slapped them away. "And when were we ever _friends_?"

Gary took another step forward, his smile dropping, and this time he grabbed opposite sides of Jimmy's shirt. "Come on, let me try it on."

The tone of Gary's voice was enough to set Jimmy's heart hammering, and he immediately wrapped his hands around Gary's wrists, trying to pry them off. "Let go of me!"

"Let me try it on first." He was so close now... Close enough that James could see the different strands of brown in Gary's hair as they struggled together. The taller boy scowled. With a swift jerk upwards there was the ripping sound of fabric as his victim's shirt split up the back.

And then Jimmy gasped as Gary hefted him up and slammed him into the sink. Sharp, hot pain jolted up his spine from where the faucet had dug into his flesh, making the hands at his neck momentarily vanish for a second of thoughtless agony. Something like a growl escaped from him, and Gary hefted and slammed again, Jimmy's head ricocheting off of the scummy glass of the mirror.

"I hope you're enjoying your _date_, Hopkins. Have you been living the good life all summer, stuffing your fingers up that townie's _twat _every night? Does she say _thank you_?"

What?

Jimmy sent his fist crashing into the side of Gary's face, and he staggered, half ripping Jimmy off of his porcelain seat. He pushed himself the rest of the way off, slamming Gary's arms aside and giving him a mighty shove. Gary flew across the room and hit one of the stall doors.

"I _knew_ you would do this! I knew you wouldn't know when to stay the _fuck_ down!" The king stalked after his opponent, adrenaline shooting through his veins so thickly he shook from it. His hands felt weak, and his insides had turned suddenly giddy and trembling.

From against the stalls, Gary was already recovering. When his eyes turned up to Jimmy, his pupils had narrowed almost to nothing, and his dangerous grin was back, now accented by the ruddy swelling of a nearly busted lip. "What can I say, Jimmy-boy? You're just interesting."

"Interesting? _Interesting_?" Jimmy lashed out, shoving Gary sideways and across the tile of the floor. A quick step brought the king over him, straddling both sides of his waist as his hand shot down to grab a handful of his shirt. Fighting came automatically. It came like breath came. A favorite move by far, Jimmy slammed down with his fist, repeatedly punching his pinned victim. It took Gary a full six seconds to shove Jimmy off, and as the boy stumbled backwards, Gary dove forward and buckled him at the knees. Jimmy's head hit the tile, hard. For a second time that day, the world went blind white with pain. Only this time, when his vision cleared, Gary was on top of him, pinning his hands to the floor, and a faint nausea was swelling in his stomach.

"Come _on_, Hopkins. You know _you're_ the one I like to torture." The taller boy said gleefully, blood trickling down the corner of his mouth. "Everyone else comes in second place in comparison to _you_. _They_ break _far_ too easily. You're _way_ more fun."

There was something feverish about Gary's eyes, and Jimmy felt his stomach drop out. He had to get loose... Soon. But with all his throwing weight being held down, all he could do was wriggle. So wriggle he did, testing out all the resistance zones with an irritated, sick expression. "Your idea of _fun_ is fucked up, man."

And then Gary ground down on him at the hips, slow, and hard. Jimmy gasped involuntarily, before his eyes grew large and angry. "Oh, oh, _fuck_ you."

The taller boy grinned, savagely. "Yes please."

Shock took a back seat to action. Jimmy kicked up with an almost herculean strength, fear now fueling his bid for freedom. The taller boy grunted as Jimmy's knee caught him in the back, and he rolled forward in pain. The shorter using the weight, rolled them both to the side and scrambled off the floor and to his feet. Freedom!

The king stumbled across the tile to the other side of the room, and turned to stand, heaving pudding-thick air in and out of his searing lungs. He was still shaking, and sweating a little now, as he jabbed an accusatory finger at the boy still on the floor. "What _the fuck_ was that, Gary?"

Gary rolled, almost lazily, onto his side. Propping his ear up on his fist, his smile was vaguely eerie. "Well, James, I'm pretty sure I just made your dick _salute_ me. You know, I hear they treat fags and queers at the Volts with electro-shock therapy. You might want to look into that, but it's just a suggestion."

"What?"

It was the eyebrow that did it. Even bloody and on the grubby floor of a public men's bathroom, when Gary quirked up one of his brows and looked pointedly at Jimmy's pants, Jimmy still felt like a retard in the presence of a genius. He looked down at himself, and traitorously, the front of his shorts had tented out like some kind of GI Joe camo mission camp.

... Shit.

From the floor, Gary was still grinning smugly. It was a look that said he was obviously congratulating himself for a job well done. And his mood swings, it seemed, were obviously still as intense as they'd ever been. Jimmy eyed him with an entirely new layer of suspicion, as well with the now faint vestiges of embarrassment. "...Why are you _really_ here?"

"I told you, James, I just want to try on your shirt. I knew that I'd have to repeat you the question, but really, do try and remember this time."

It seemed suddenly obvious why Gary's eye was so gruesomely scarred. Who wouldn't want to slash him in the face with something sharp?

"Get up. Get out of here."

"Hmm... I don't think so, no."

"Fine." the boy sighed. It was with a distinct finality. Jimmy was disgusted with the entire night. "See you later."

He entirely missed Gary's genuine expression of alarm as he turned on his heel and headed for the door. It was, however, impossible to miss his reflection in the line of mirrors. Dress shirt ripped clean down the back, the rest of his clothes were smeared with the dust and debris that had come up off of the neglected tile of the floor. Even Jimmy's face was rougher looking. He was flushed, and obviously breathing hard, and if an employee saw him, it would be a one way ticket to eating shit on the curb outside. It was obvious that he had just been in a fight. Zoe would think he ditched their date, and all hell would break loose. Great, then. Fucking great. Another night of avoiding authority figures.

Which was why, when Jimmy reached for the door and it began to swing open instead, he jumped about a foot and stumbled back. A sharp wrench around his midsection, and he felt himself being dragged back and into one of the toilet stalls instead, maroon door slamming shut all within the first three heartbeats of his attempted exit. Gary slapped a hand over his mouth from behind, and Jimmy froze.

Outside the stall, the rough chattering of a pair of Janitors echoed off the walls of the narrow room.

"Ain't nobody here. Nobody here, don't need to look busy."

"Come on, you jackass, if we don't at least mop the floor, Stan is going to get on my case about it. I mean, look, you can see the smudges."

Two bored sounding voices. Obviously the reason the theater was as poorly kept as it was, was it's failure to oversee it's cadre of incompetent employees. A common mistake around this part of town.

"Yeah, it _does_ kinda look like animals have been rolling around in here. Shit."

The electric hot feeling of a tongue sliding up the side of his neck made Jimmy's limbs go as hard as rock. Gary's hand tightened over Jimmy's lips as his mouth wrapped around the cool cartilage of an ear, and ran delicate circles around it's inner crevices, sending shivers down the boy's spine. Already, the shorter boy's heart was hammering so loudly he was convinced the janitors could hear it. They couldn't, of course, which must be the point of hiding, but the true face of Gary's revenge assured his panicking captive that it would only be a matter of time.

"Who the fuck spilled soda everywhere? No wonder the floor's so sticky."

"Fresh ice, too. The little shit's probably still around somewhere." The clatter of wood on plastic, and then the wet sloppy sound of sponge on floor revealed a mop being put into use.

Gary's arm pulled Jimmy closer against his chest, and his hand began to wander further south. But when his fingers began playing with the buttons on the shorts he found, the shorter boy finally found his muscle and tried to drop an elbow back into his attacker's stomach. He missed, but only fractionally, when Gary smoothed up against his backside to avoid the blow. A short, painful wrench, and the taller boy was pulling Jimmy's head to the side, back in his clutching grasp.

"I dare you." Gary whispered, barely audible. "Make a sound."

The groan of the bathroom door sung through the room again, and fate, it seemed, was not without a sense of revenge. Jimmy's stomach clenched up harder than it ever had in his life at the following voice.

"Hey, have you guys seen a kid in here?" Zoe's tone rung higher than the men's scratchy ones, and she sounded more than a little irritated. Jimmy felt Gary grinning against the back of his neck. "Short? Kinda stupid looking? With freckles?"

"In here?"

Gary plunged a hand down the front of Jimmy's shorts, and an involuntary, painful groan rose up from behind the muffling fingers on his mouth.

"Huh?"

"What?"

"I didn't say anything."

"What, right now?"

Rolling wheels, and the slop of water. Lighter footsteps. Girl's footsteps.

It was too much. Gary's strong fingers wrapped around Jimmy's dick and pulled up, and then down, slow at first, his calluses teasing the hot, delicate flesh, coercing it into twitching in his hand. Too much. Too much. Clenching his teeth as hard as he could, Jimmy's eyes slid closed as he battled with himself. But it was a loosing fight. When Gary's thumb slid over the head, a small, almost inaudible whimper rose up and forced it's way passed the king's lips. Gary's own dick grew as hard as a cut diamond at the sound, and he ground into his captive's back.

"There, I heard it again."

"Where?"

"What are you talking about?"

"Look, no. Just... _hey_! I _just_ want to know if you've seen my _boyfriend_!"

"Does this room look full to you, little lady?"

"What it looks like is a shit sty."

Smooth lips came down on the juncture between Jimmy's throat and collarbone to tease there, and for a moment, an untoward thought came to him. Gary's lips were much softer than he thought that they'd be. For someone who spent so much time with an unpleasant, stiff-looking smile, they were actually quite supple.

Not that he thought about that usually. Or at all.

"You better watch your mouth, girl."

"And you better watch your _eyes_, pal. What the hell are you looking at, anyway? Ain't you ever seen a rack before?"

Gary bit down, and Jimmy hissed, air sucking between his teeth. When he took his mouth away, he was laughing softly. "She's _good_."

"What are you talking about?"

"My _breasts_, idiot. Can you see them?"

Picking up the pace with his busy hand, Gary leaned into Jimmy, forcing the boy to bow over and put a hand out on the stall door to keep from falling. It was the last straw for a lot of things, and the shorter boy finally bit down on the fingers over his mouth. Behind him, he heard a soft grunt, and the hand went away, instead going to wrap more tightly around Jimmy's chest.

"Yeah. D cups, huh? Wanna come give me a closer look?"

"Okay, you know what? Never mind. Fuck you."

This was getting ugly. Barely bothering to contain his breathing anymore, Jimmy leaned into his arm, hard, and swallowed mouthful after mouthful of air. Already, he could feel the telltale pressure of liquid heat building up for release, and stifling himself when he busted all over the bathroom door was going to be next to fucking _impossible_. Like, Ghandi getting into a fist fight with a _dinosaur_ impossible.

"No, hey, fuck _you_!"

"No, fuck _you_! You misogynistic asswipe!"

Harder.

"Asswipe? Where do kids get this shit?"

Faster.

"It's all those rap videos, man."

_Faster_.

"Whatever, see you around, dip-shits." The door opening and closing.

GET OUT ALREADY. _CHRIST_.

"What a bitch. Let's blow this job, I don't give a shit anymore, man. I hate kids."

"Hallelujah. I hear that."

The door opened and closed again, and with a strangled gasp, Jimmy slammed his fist as hard as he could into the wood of the door, and came in Gary's slippery hand.

Silence rung heavy in the bathroom for a few long moments. Bent over his arm, panting, Jimmy pressed his forehead against the stall door and attempted to regain some sense of calm. Every part of his body tingled and twitched, with a sensitivity that bore irritation into his reverie like an oil drill penetrates the earth. But it was only when Gary moved behind him that he was brought to serious action again.

"Graceful, Jimmy. Who knew you were so baby-sensitive?" Gary chortled, taking his sticky hand back to examine it in the dull light.

Whipping around, Jimmy slammed his fist straight into Gary's face.

"WELCOME HOME, you _fucking_ ASSHOLE." The king bellowed, before tucking his dick back, kicking the stall door open, and stalking out of the filthy bathroom.

Again, there was the deafening silence of the lonely emptiness.

Left belted and thrown over the top of the toilet, Gary slowly sat up. He sighed, once, in the remaining still left over now that he was once again alone. One, long, sigh. And then he touched his lip. It had been freshly bloodied, but the sight of it on his fingertips brought a smile, instead of a frown. When he touched the red liquid to his tongue, the smile grew, broadening into an all-out delicious smirk.

_Welcome home_, huh?

"Well, Jimmy-boy," Gary murmured, swirling sticky cum with sticky blood in the palm of his hand. "...It's good to be back."

* * *

--

/TBC?/

A/N: Might this continue into a series of fatefully interrupted dates? Uh oh, I think maybe soooOOooo. I feel like the application of a straitjacket into the plot somewhere might also be advantageous. lolz, readers. lolz.


	2. Release

**Title: Dog's Day**

**Chapter II: Release**

A/N: Thank you thank you thankyouthankyouthankyou to faithharris, for being my beta reader (my first one ever!) and just, beating the shit out of the shitty parts of this chapter and making them look glamorous.

--

* * *

RELEASE  
by Onions Make Me Cry

* * *

--

--

* * *

**(((FORTY-EIGHT HOURS PRIOR)))**

--

Sylvia sighed, slapping her pen down on the clipboard. "I don't know what to do with him. I just don't."

The orderly that the nurse was speaking to shruggedfrom behind a large basket of dirty scrubs. He leaned over the scrubs with a cigarette dangling from his bottom lip, trying not to inhale too deeply**. **A patient had escaped from solitary confinement earlier in the day and taken a very wet shit on a stack of previously clean laundry. Laundry which was now doomed to return to the lava-hot triple-cycle of Happy Volts Home for the Mentally Unwell's incurably frightening line of industrial washing machines. If they were lucky this time, the batch of clothing would come out without any water scorches. But then again, not much about Happy Volts was lucky. They would probably just come out ten sizes too small. Either that, or they'd be on fire.

"I dunno. He won't take his pills?"

"_No_." The woman sighed. "He won't eat. Won't talk, except when he's shouting, won't let us touch him... Won't see any of the doctors. I swear to God, the only way we can get that kid to do anything is to knock him out with a _tranquilizer_ dart first."

Sylvia was a rather plump woman. Three extra ruddy chins were currently protruding from beneath her real one as she stared down at the scuffed counter of the sign-in desk. An assortment of tiny, technicolor pills slid around from place to place, playing a slippery game around the thick tree trunks of her fingers. She glared at them, sweating with concentration, as she attempted to pinch them up and deposit them into little plastic cups.The orderly stared at her, not breathing, with a dull look of amusement painted across his thuggish face.

"Why bother with the pills if he ain't takin' them?" the man wondered, ash floating down into the laundry from the end of his cigarette.

The nurse sighed again, this time with greater frustration. "Well I just can't give up, can I? Dr. Collins won't be here until tomorrow morning with the sedatives."

"I say just clobber the kid. Though... Isn't he the same one that ripped out of three sets of restraints?"

"... _four_, actually."

"And the same kid that saved all his piss in a cup and dumped it on Collins last week?"

"Same one."

"The one that made that guy in D-block set himself on fire?"

"Again, yes. And it wasn't just the one person."

"The same little shit that got kicked out of that fancy school for criminals after inciting a _riot_?"

Sylvia's sweaty palm came down on the pills with a powerful slap, like a boot crushing a cockroach. There was a resonating moment of quiet before the great reveal... when the woman lifted her hand up again, all the pills were stuck fast. She observed them with a satisfied smirk, before plucking them up one at a time, and setting them in their appropriate cups.

"At least his release is scheduled for tomorrow," she conceded.

"Right," the orderly muttered, and stood straight again. Flicking the butt end of his cigarette carelessly into his basket, he sniffed, farted, and began to drag the laundry away. "Yeah... well, good luck with that."

The nurse muttered a brief acknowledgment of the man's departure, before daintily setting two cups of pink and blue pills on a small tray.

"Alright, Mr. Smith." The woman breathed, stepping out from behind the counter.

She would have to try this... _one_ more time.

* * *

--

He looked brain-dead. That was reassuring. Sylvia slowly pushed open the heavy slotted door to Gary Smith's containment cell.

The boy sat limp-boned and expressionless against the far wall on the floor, hands flopped like rubber on the dull blue smock all the patients were required to wear. He hadn't had much contact with the outside world over the past few months... or the inside world, come to think of it. Most times, when the door to his cell opened, it was an invitation to have most of the room picked up and hurled at whoever dared come close. In the alone time that had resulted from such behavior, Gary's room had been re-assembled to resemble something like a children's fort. The bed had been turned over from where the boy had ripped the frame out of the wall, for one. Now it stood like a barrier between the door and the corner, where plates and trays and sheets had been threaded into the springs of the frame with anal precision**. **The mattress had been dragged against the farthest side of the wall, and the bedding had been rigidly made... Militaristically made**.** The blankets looked tight enough to bounce a quarter, and had stayed that way for quite some time. Gary had completely given up touching it and now slept on the floor instead.

"Time for your medicine, young man." The nurse said in a sing-song voice, though her tone wasn't without bitterness**.** Theirs was a mutual hate.

Gary looked up from the floor, dark circles framing hollow-looking eyes.

Nothing.

Silence.

Half expecting the boy to fling a dish at her like a frisbee, Sylvia approached with some caution. "Here, come take these." He continued to stare blankly. "If you do, the Doctor won't have to come see you about them tomorrow morning. Remember how you hate for them to wake you up?"

And then, like the hand of God acting out a minor miracle, Gary stood. It was a slow motion, and felt exhausting, even to an observer. First, the boy dragged his feet under himself, and with shaking, flopping hands, Gary crawlingly felt his way up the side of the wall. Every muscle twitch screamed with tiredness, and every step dragged with a dull despair as he moved out into the center of the room. Step by agonizing step, the sickly figure made his way across the bleach-white floor, until he stood, swaying just a little, in front of Sylvia's pill tray.

The woman gaped. Was he really going to do it today? Would he finally give in to his situation and willingly take his medication? The track marks on his arms weren't enough to inspire sympathy out of Sylvia, but they did serve to remind her of what a monumental hassle it had been up until that point to administer his proper dose of drugs.

Questing with a trembling hand, Gary plucked the little plastic cup off the tray, and looked dully down into itscontents.

Was he really-? Did he actually-? Would he finally-? "Oh! My goodness, well, here you go, dear." Atwitter with excitement, Sylvia took another step towards her patient, and with a very large, very greasy smile, held out a sweating cup of water.

Gary's eyes fell on Sylvia's chubby hand clutching the slippery cup, and for a moment he stared at it with the same vacant sadness many of the other Happy Volts inmates hosted; a mournful look devoid of all competent thought. And then he slapped it out of her hand.

The cup clattered loudly on the floor, ricocheting off the woman's ankles and spilling it's contents everywhere. Sylvia shrieked and dropped her tray, falling back the few steps it took to be standing just outside the room, and when she looked up again, her patient wore a malicious smile.

Slowly raising his hand, Gary leveled his eyes with the nurse's, and dumped his pills pointedly on top of the spilled ruin of the glass of water.

"Where do you come off, behaving like that?" The nurse shouted, obviously spooked by this sudden turn of events. "You need to take the medicine you've been prescribed to you by your _Doctor_! Don't you want to get well again?"

Gary tilted his head a little as he observed his nurse. Folding his hands across his chest, his vindictive smirk faded a little, in favor of an injection of bitterness. "...None of you people seem to understand. I'm clinically insane. Not _stupid_."

"Yes, well, good luck on the outside." The woman muttered. What was wrong with this kid? Well, besides the psychoneurosis. "See you back here in a month, if you're lucky. Maybe two months, _tops_."

That comment caught Gary off-guard. It hardly ever happened, but there it was, all the same... that narrowing of the pupils. That slight intake of breath. "...What do you mean?"

Sylvia drew herself up to her full height, and set to sweeping off the front of her uniform. "You're being discharged. A taxi is coming tomorrow night."

Whether or not it seemed odd to Gary that a mental institution would deem it appropriate to ship off one of their patients in a city cab without a declared clean bill of health, hardly seemed important. The strangeness was simply washed away by an immediate wave of elation. Freedom. Free from this place. Gone... Gone, and soon. So much sooner than Gary had ever thought possible.

"..._Why_?"

The question was pointless**;** he was still leaving this place tomorrow night regardless of the answer. Really. Come hell or high water, he was leaving. But it had to come out, all the same.

"Why, dear?" Nurse Sylvia questioned, and stooped to pick up her pill tray. Her hips were so wide, that from her position just outside the door and in the hall, her sides were shaved off by the looming door frame. "Well, I suppose because your parents stopped paying your bill."

Never in all of Gary Smith's life had the concept of parental neglect ever made him grin so hard, without so much as a trace of cynicism.

"Well, I'm glad you're pleased about something. _Finally_. But who is going to clean up this mess?"

The boy's face was puzzled for a moment, before he looked down at his feet. Oh, water. The water... Right. Droplets twinkled from the dull cement floor like small fish eyes, reflecting everything from a strange, warped perspective. The nurse shot her patient an indignant look, but before she could do anything, Gary grabbed the edge of his door and slammed it shut in her face.

Outside in the hall, Sylvia belted out another one of her famous, miserable sighs. He would be gone by midnight tomorrow, at least. There was a little comfort. Soon he would be out of her hair. How he had managed to maintain that same sense of prescient evil throughout his entire stay had been a complete mystery to the fat woman. Orderlies had beaten him. Doctors had restrained him. And most importantly, they'd been knocking him unconscious and pumping his veins full of anti-depressants, anti-psychotics, sedatives, supplements... everything he needed and more. Yet even still, he carried an eerie awareness about him that spooked the orderlies, made the other patients prone to setting themselves on fire, and gave Sylvia herself a healthy dose of the rather more serious heebie jeebies. Gary Smith was more like a ghost than a person.

Clutching her tray to her breasts, Sylvia peeked in through the slotted window of the cell. Gary hadn't begun to braid a noose together with ripped strips of sheet, like she'd half hoped to discover him doing . He had retreated instead to the opposite end of the room again. And there, squatting next to his mattress, he drew a single photograph out from underneath his stone-stiff blankets.

What.. ?

The boy stared at the picture for a few moments, and then rolled over onto his back to hold it up to the light. There on the floor Gary laid, for some time afterwards, examining the glossy photo with an expression of faint excitement.

It wasn't until the following night, when Gary had packed his few things and been ushered lovelessly off in a taxi cab, that Sylvia was allowed back into the room again. The photo was still there, dog-eared and lonely in the middle of the floor.

Bending to pick it up, the woman brought it close to her face. It was a photograph of two young boys. One of them was small, smiling weakly from beneath a head of short-cropped brown hair. The other boy was larger, and thick-necked, with a smattering of reddish freckles. _His_ face was obscured by a large X, drawn in careful black permanent marker.

Eerie. Everything about Gary Smith was eerie. Nurse Sylvia snorted to herself, thinking again how pleased she was to be rid of this particular inmate once and for all.

Flipping the thing, she noted a line of cramped hand-writing that marked a note across the back of the picture.

_'First semester, Jimmy's first week.'_

* * *

_--_

* * *

**_(((THE PRESENT)))_**

* * *

_--_

This was obviously some kind of sick joke.

"Get out."

Like, kicking the kneecaps out from behind old ladies sick.

"Seriously. Get _out_ of my _room_."

Gary looked up from the book he'd been reading, sprawled on his stomach across Jimmy's bed, and offered a pleasant smile. "No, I don't think so."

"Yes. Really, Gary. Get out right now, or I'm going to throw you out myself." The young king took a threatening step towards the bed from the open doorway, but to poor results. His unwanted intruder merely gave him a bored look, and let his eyes fall back down to his reading.

"How did you even get in here? Everybody must be looking for you... I'm not gonna be responsible for a maniac on the loose, so fuck off and get out of my room."

"Language, Hopkins." Gary murmured blandly, and turned a dusty page with one long finger. "Once you set a bad example, your loyal minions are sure to pick it up, and then it's nothing but work, work, work, all the time."

The recently released inmate of Happy Volts had gotten himself cleaned up since his last appearance at the Vale Theater. He'd obviously taken a shower, for one thing. His hair was clean again, his teeth were brushed, and he wore an obnoxiously familiar white collared shirt. It wasn't part of the Bullworth uniform, but with the sleeves rolled up to the elbow, coupled with a sharp pair of khaki shorts, the illusion was quite remarkable. He didn't have the vest, but after a year of sometimes wearing it, sometimes not, its presence wasn't required to cast the right kind of spell. Gary looked nothing short of a much cleaner, albeit bargain-brandier reincarnation of his former glorious self. And how the shit-bag had managed to get into Jimmy's room, much less travel across campus without being spotted, was a mystery. But here he was, all the same, as if he'd never been expelled at all. As if his summer at the insane asylum had never happened. But most importantly to Jimmy, Gary was behaving as if they were comfortable with each other, and that above all things was unforgivable. Gary was behaving as if he hadn'tgone to the theater last night. As if he hadn't tried to beat Jimmy's skull against a sink. As if he had never attempted to smother him to death in a public restroom. And as if he had never given his arch nemesis the fastest, questionably non-consensual public hand job known to mankind. Less than thirty-two hours, and here he was again.

It hadn't even been two whole days. _Why_, was he here? Why did Gary Smith have to be _here_?

Jimmy stalked across the room and ripped the book out of Gary's hands. "You can't stay in my room, if that's what you're thinking."

Gary watched the book go with mild interest, then let loose a long, luxurious stretch. It ended with the boy flopping over on his back and tucking his hands behind his skull, zooming in on Jimmy's face with a lazy, confident smirk. "Oh, I think you'll change your mind."

"And why is that?"

"Because," Gary spoke slowly now, as if explaining a difficult concept to a small child, "if you don't do everything I tell you to do, I'm going to tell your girlfriend why my hand smells like your dick, Jimmy-boy."

James stared, incredulous. But when his mouth opened again, what came out was only, "You didn't wash your _hand_?"

From the bed, Gary gave a theatrical sigh, and rolled his neck. Dark hair fanning out over Jimmy's sheets, the boy looked more like a magazine spread than a mental patient. It was funny how such a large change could have occurred over such a short time... All that remained of the scarecrow from the previous night was a lingering thinness. And a paleness that still shone a little waxy in his face. It would take a month or so of good, fresh vegetables to eliminate that side effect, but it too would disappear with time. Now, here was the old Gary. The confident, handsome young man who had been able to win over so many other people to his cause, if not just for brief integers of time. This was Gary, the mastermind.

"Washed my hand? That's really not the point, now is it?"

"So what, are you just going to pitch a tent on the floor or something?" Jimmy shouted, incapable of containing his frustration. Gary was still here. He was still _here_. _Why_ was he _still here_?

"_No_... _I'm_ going to sleep in the bed. Yes, despite the fact that it's probably a _crusty_ _feasting_ ground for bacteria because you haven't _washed_ your sheets in an eon, I'm going to sleep in the bed. It's yours, and I want it. _You'll_ be sleeping on the floor."

"What? No way, fuck that."

"Would you rather sleep here with me?"

The distinct memory of Gary's callused fingers running up his dick rushed up and hit Jimmy in the gut. Silence was his response, though unconsciously his face contorted into the sort of expression a drunken fraternity brother makes before throwing up into a bowl of punch.

Gary's smirk widened a fraction of an inch. "I didn't think so."

Not that arguing would have mattered. It was already too late. Gary was already there. And he already had all the ammunition he needed to make Jimmy's life a living hell for the next three to five consecutive years at Bullworth Academy, should he decide to do so. Zoe wasn't just a jealous girl... she was a smart, _perceptive_, (not to mention amazingly bitter) jealous girl. If she decided that she wanted Jimmy dead, it would take nothing short of the hand of God, coming down and scooping him to safety to avoid the inevitable kamikaze explosion that would eventually ensue. The bitter reality of his hopeless situation sunk in, and the king had a sudden, acute understanding of _just how_ fucked he was. If being between a rock and a hard place was a regular difficult situation, this was like being stuck between a meteor and the sun.

With a sigh that tasted bitter and dry on Jimmy's tongue, he shoved Gary's feet out of the way and sat on the end of his bed. "...fine. Whatever. But just for a week, okay?"

The smirk became something like a gloating grin, and Gary kicked at the boy by his sneakers. "I _knew_ you missed me, Hopkins."

What Gary Smith wanted, Gary Smith got.

* * *

--

/TBC/

* * *


End file.
